A Perfect Situation
by L3ftOfCent3r
Summary: Season 1, AU story: During a walk on Storybrooke's Dock, Emma and Henry witness a playful dalmatian rob a, handsome but cocky, man of his prosthetic hand.


**Hi! The park scene from "101 Dalmatians" inspired this. Loosely. It's true. **

**Happy reading!**

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A Perfect Situation

Henry turned a page in his storybook as he walked side-by-side with Emma, chatting away about fairytale characters as if they were real. In spite of herself, Emma listened to the kid's every word, letting him indulge in make-believe as they walked down the pier that bordered the harbor. With a contented sigh, Henry ended his long-winded rant about the child-snatching, _Pied Piper_.

"Well that guy sounds like a _real_ barrel of laughs." Emma commented, dryly as she admired the boats they passed along their way.

"Yeah," the boy agreed, smiling at the sarcasm in his birth mother's voice, "I think he might be the bus driver. Sometimes he threatens to sell the bus kids to the slave market when they get too loud."

Emma's eyebrows shot-up to her hairline, but before she could say anything about paying the unruly bus driver a visit—

"Hey! There's Pongo!"

Henry pointed a finger and Emma followed its direction towards the end of the pier where a man was seated on a bench. With mussed black hair and a handsome amount of stubble, the man definitely wasn't Archie Hopper. Emma watched as he set aside a book and then tried to shoo the dog away with an oddly stiff hand. With a slur of curses that nearly had Emma shielding Henry's ears, the stiff hand was yanked from the man's arm and carried off by a playful dalmatian.

"Bring me back my hand you bloody spotted mongrel!" the man shouted in a thick, surly accent.

Henry immediately ran to help, calling-out Pongo's name as he left Emma behind.

"Pongo?" the man mocked as he watched the boy run passed him, "So that's what the spotted mutt is called!"

"I'm so sorry about this!" Emma shouted-out as she approached the one-handed man from behind.

Hearing her voice, he turned around and met her with a surprised flick of his eyebrows. Sporting a pair of sleek jeans and a black sailing jacket, the man strode towards her, looking like a male runway model—only…angrier.

"Tell me, love," he purred, dangerously as he eyed her from head to toe, "Do you often make a habit of letting your dog loose?"

The one-handed man fixed her with a pair of deep blue eyes that seemed to course through her like an x-ray machine. The dark brows that framed those eyes held a threat all their own as they lowered angrily. Emma swallowed and gave him a sheepish smile.

"He's my friend's dog, actually," she replied as she broke the man's gaze to scan the harbor, "Archie is usually pretty good at keeping him on a short leash. I don't know where he could be."

The man's expression softened to learn that the blonde woman wasn't the owner of the offending dog. With an interested quirk of his eyebrow, he looked her over appreciatively.

"Perhaps, love, your friend wised-up and got himself a cat," the man suggested as his eyes danced over her face, "A much more agreeable animal, don't you think?"

With a roguish smile, the man took a step closer to Emma.

"Spirited. Independent. They're affections aren't easily won—much like my ideal woman."

Emma raised an eyebrow at the man's blatant flirtation, and then proceeded to examine him suspiciously.

"We haven't met," she said as she reached-out a reluctant hand, "I'm—

"Emma! Grab him!" Henry shouted just as the hand-toting dalmatian ran towards her at full speed.

Emma gasped in surprise and then lunged forward, trying to grab him. The dog skillfully circled behind her, causing his leash to snap around like a whip and encircle her ankle. Emma let-out a startled scream as Pongo dragged her forward into the one-handed man.

"Oof!" she exclaimed as she collided into his hard chest and her hands grasped at his back to steady herself, "I'm so sorry!"

The man gave a hearty laugh, which rumbled through his chest and into Emma's, as his arms instinctively went around her, holding her tight. She was so close to him that she could smell the faint saltiness of the sea in his clothes and it filled her head with images of sailboats and fishnets. The two strangers appeared to be embracing like a pair of lovers on the boardwalk as the loose-leash dalmatian ran circles around them, binding their ankles together.

"'S no trouble, love," the man practically cooed—his accented voice taking on a huskier tone, "It's not everyday I get tied-up to a beautiful woman."

Emma swallowed and felt her cheeks heat up from a combination of embarrassment and anger. For someone who was short a hand, he certainly had no shortage of _balls_! With a smutty smirk, the man gazed down at her through a pair of undressing, blue eyes. Emma quickly looked away.

"Damn dog!" she cursed through her teeth as she glared down at the offending animal.

With a whine, Pongo sat down beside their feet—unable to go anywhere else—and then promptly dropped the prosthetic hand from his mouth.

"Aw, he's not so bad," the man said as he gazed at Emma with a lazy smile, "I'd say that I have a bit of soft spot for him, now."

Emma looked at him through narrowed eyes and attempted to move away. Unfortunately, in her current predicament, her movements only caused her to wiggle against him. The man's smile widened.

"Henry!" Emma shouted, sounding a bit desperate, "Come untangle this leash!

Quickly, Henry kneeled to the ground, but before he could even reach-out a hand, a shrill whistle and a familiar call echoed through the harbor. Henry leaped backwards as Pongo took-off running towards the sound of his master. With a great whoosh and girlish shriek, the entangled couple spun in a circle as the leash unraveled from around them like thread from a bobbin. Hands clung desperately to shoulders and strong arms tightened their hold as their feet were pulled from underneath them. With a thud, Emma fell on to her back, creating a soft landing for the one-handed man.

"Oof!"

"Are you alright, love?" the man was quick to ask as he brought a concerned hand to her cheek.

Half-dazed, Emma let out a soft breath as she gazed up at the attractive face that was only mere inches from her own. His firm body touched every part of her, causing her skin to flush as she lie pinned beneath him. For a moment, her head swam dizzily as all her senses were attuned to him—his pounding heart against her chest, his warm hand on her cheek, his cool breath caressing her face. Emma swallowed dryly and felt her eyes grow heavy under his seductive gaze. With her breathless parted lips so near to his, the man dipped his head downwards, planning to give her a kiss he knew she'd be too dazed to refuse.

"Emma!" the mild sound of horrification in her son's voice caused her eyes to snap open.

The man pulled back, smiling deviously, and despite his alluring blue eyes and the handsomeness of his neatly stubbled face, Emma sneered at him.

"Get off of me."

With the agility of a jungle cat, the one-handed man pushed himself to his feet and then extended his good arm down to her.

"My apologies, Miss—"

"Swan," she replied, bitterly as she took his hand, "Emma Swan."

The man easily pulled her to her feet, but kept a firm hold on her hand, enveloping it in a warmth that reminded her too much of the intimate position they had recently shared. The man flashed her a roguish grin as if he could read as much on her face.

"Emma. _Swan_." he tested it out and it sounded like something sleazy on his tongue, "Apologies, love, but you can't blame a man for taking advantage of a perfect situation."

Emma gave him a bored look.

"Actually, I can."

The man laughed and Emma sized him up with a cool stare. The hand-locked couple fixed their eyes on one another, seeming to be caught-up in a staring match. Henry shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot as he watched them, feeling as if he was witnessing something a child shouldn't see.

"Here," Henry piped up, "Here's you hand, Mr—"

The man reluctantly looked away from the blonde and dropped her hand so he could acknowledge the boy.

"Foley," he said with a smile as he took his prosthetic hand from Henry, "Chance Foley."

Emma looked at him suspiciously. _Chance? _Somehow it didn't seem to fit. She had imagined him having a name with more syllables. A name that almost required a breath to say. A name like Benjamin or Damian or something ending with an "in" or "an"—anything other than _Chance_.

"I'm Henry Mills," the boy informed him as he watched the man reattach his prosthetic, "How did you lose your hand?"

"HENRY!" Emma scolded as she sent him a wide-eyed warning.

The one-handed man gave a laugh at her reaction.

"He's alright, love," he assured her as he glanced down at his faux appendage and then back to the boy, "Fishing accident."

Henry's eyes lit-up with awe, wanting, no doubt, to hear more details.

"Are you a fisherman?" Henry asked, "Did it happen on your own boat?"

Emma shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, feeling that she should stop the boy before he asked anymore questions.

"Indeed, I am, and regrettably it did," the man confessed as he began walking forward.

Henry followed him purposefully, and Emma's legs carried her after him even though her mind thought against it.

"My boat's right in the harbor," the man said as he stopped at the bench he had been sitting on, "It's the one that has the black flag on the mast."

Henry and Emma, both, followed the pointing of his good arm to the harbor where several boats were docked. Sure enough, they spotted the black flag as it flapped in the wind. When Emma glanced back at the man she found that his blue gaze was already fixed on her—a smirk playing on his lips.

"Perhaps I'll show you my cabin one day," he said before giving her a flirtatious wink.

Emma's eyes widened and she quickly grabbed a hold of Henry's hand.

"Okay, then. Come on kid, we need to be getting home before your mom puts a bounty on my head."

At her words, the man quirked an amused eyebrow and reached down to lift his book from the bench.

"Smart, lass," he commented as he took a seat, "I hope you find Mayor Mill's in an agreeable mood."

Emma shot him a look—unsure whether she should thank him or question him.

"Thanks." Henry beat her to it, "I hope Pongo didn't chew up your hand too much."

The man smiled at the boy and proudly held up his prosthetic.

"No harm done."

Emma glanced down at the book on his lap, just long enough to read the cover. _Moby Dick by Herman Melville_. Emma had to bite back a laugh. The one-handed man noticed.

"Pleasure meeting you, Emma," he said to catch her attention, "And Henry."

Emma swallowed under the pressure of his blue gaze and could only manage to give a small smile. Henry, on the other hand, extended the man's same sentiment before waving goodbye. The two walked-off back down the pier, then. Henry carried his storybook, and Emma carried the weight of the man's eyes on her back, feeling him watch her as she walked away. It had been a while since she had come across such a brazen man, but never one as bold as this one. Curiously—a bit indulgently—Emma glanced down at the book in her son's arm as her mind began to wonder.

"Alright, kid, so tell me—who's that guy supposed to be in this book of yours?"

Henry screwed-up his face as he thought about it for a moment. Then, as if a light-bulb had clicked on over his head, the boy thumbed through his book and pointed at one of the pictures. With a tilt of her head, Emma glanced down at the book and quickly rolled her eyes at what she saw.

"Oh, of course!" she said sarcastically as she looked away from the drawing of a pirate, "He's Captain Hook!"

"He even has the boat!" Henry defended, "And the _one_ hand!"

Emma gave her son a sharp look and then playfully ruffled his hair.

"I'll give you that, kid," she said with a smile, "There _are_ some definite similarities."

The boy grinned up at her as if he had made some lee-way in getting her to believe. With his book hugged tightly to chest, Henry looked ahead as he walked-on, anticipating the day that she became a believer. With a secretive glance, Emma looked over her shoulder, one last time, at the man who was reading his book. As if he could feel her eyes, he looked up to meet her gaze and corner of his mouth curved-up into a flirtatious smirk. Emma quickly looked away, scolding herself. Captain Hook, or not—the man most definitely had a _pirate_ smile.


End file.
